Bipolar Addict on a Mission towards GROWTH

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So about a month after the email fiasco, Inn sister and I are shooting the shit in the backyard. I bring up social media, one of the many suggestions I had proposed to increase occupancy. Her response? “I think facebook is just a fad.” –Verbatim. I make her another business pitch, get no response and decide to shut off my business mind for this place.

I just rent here and get paid $0.80 an hour to answer phones. Whatever. It’s what I agreed to and I never asked for more. However, I did tell her what she paid me actually calculates out too an hour. She wrote back “as permission to live on this ground you will: not think of this as an hourly job, blah, blah,” –Sort of verbatim, but the very first condition she had was how I perceived the use of my time for other people. I usually call it work and it usually comes with fair compensation. I didn’t say any of this. In fact, I think I just said nothing to that email as it was 2 months after the fact of me living here. It just seemed…childish?

So, now we come to a few days ago, been living here 17 weeks now. On the phone, “working” with a prospective guest, I say, “well, they’ve been saying they need to redo the website since before I moved in, maybe it’s done?” So I jump online with said prospective guest on the phone and sure enough, it was! It looked great! Some real time had been put into it. There were pictures of the rooms by a professional; very flattering pictures.

For some reason or another Inn sister calls the Inn and I answer. Normally the store girl is still there but when it’s slow they leave early…adding more “work” time for me. So I tell Inn sister how beautiful the website is, what a great job. They take reservations on line there now and I spoke with her about how she was going to manage that with our, ahem, THEIR old fashioned book THEY write everything in. No plan in place.

So here I am, financially struggling so much that I decided to kill myself over a speeding ticket. I tell her I’d be happy to help. I’d work for half what I normally would because I just needed work. There’s a blog section on the new site and I love this local area! It’s heaven on earth to me! I used to be a paying guest at this Inn.

We had been in contact about my interest in buying the property until I heard what a ridiculously inflated value land has in this area. 30 miles away, big drug place. 20 miles away 2 guys were killed execution style in a trailer. Does that show the disparity? But I still fucking love it here. So being the dumb ass that I am, I offered to do work for Inn sister.

She comes out and accuses me of telling a disgruntled guest what to say because it “sounded like something I would say”. –Verbatim. She also says, “I don’t like you.” -Verbatim. And then “I don’t trust you.” – Verbatim. After the “don’t like” statement I gave her a chance setting her up to say, “well, I didn’t mean to say that” but nope, she just kept right on.

But funny how life works out. This was a few days after I wanted to kill myself but now I had my pot so I feel like a whole different person. I spoke with someone else about how this was a bit like 2nd grade where you tell the kid you don’t like them. I mean, seriously, there’s a lot of people I don’t like, I would never say so. But I’m her tenant/“employee”.

So now, I’m moving out. But you know the most magical part of it all? Everyone around me is being supportive. Usually when I move, it’s because I’ve messed everything up around me and I’ve got nothing left. I’m doing fine. I was a little depressed, obviously, but I’m better. I’ve got work to do, and thus money to make, I just was too depressed to do it and was depressed about being broke, caught in a vicious cycle. Coyote bait, pot and 60 year old 2nd graders all gave me a good wake up call. Goooood Morning!!!

Do I have to pay you now, cause damn that was therapeutic to get out!!

This is the continuation of a long rant just published. It’s probably make more sense to read them in order, but shit, do what ever you want…it’s your world.

Children of deceased parents inherited this Inn and store where I’m living. They want to sell it. But they run it like “inheriters” compared with entrepreneurs. I like to pride myself an entrepreneur so I like to be read on the subject. I feel fairly competent about business things.

The arrangement I had with said children, (they’re in there early 50’s up to 60’s, but you will see shortly, they’re children still…) is that I would rent the apartment, work in the shop once a week and help increase occupancy from a measley 30% to where someone who actually had to buy the property could cover a mortgage or rent. Unless they’re mommy and daddy are coming to buy them this property, they’re going to have to swing that expense and so occupancy must be raised.

I designed a marketing plan but first things first, before you start saying to the world, “Hey, Look at Me!!” you want to make sure you’re showing your best you possible. Housekeeping.

Ha! I almost said “we” lack proper signage. The fucking children lack proper signage. When your driving up from the local attraction, you have no idea what the building is until your right next and driving past said establishment. If you aren’t looking hard left as you drive by, you won’t know what you passed.

The rooms haven’t had any money put into them since probably 1982. Honest to god, there’s old upholstered couches in numerous rooms. Gross, right? When it comes to hotel rooms, I just assume people are going to have sex wherever they can. So to me, a couch in a hotel room makes me a little queasy just writing about it.

So I wrote an email to the woman with some aesthetic suggestions, everything with the only intention of helping. Maybe the curtains should match, sheets and pillowcases are all varying prints, mismatched color schemes, etc. Which is fine, if you’re charging a rate compared with what the consumer is getting. Look at it this way: if you come with 2 people, they charge you $30 for the extra person in the room. Soooo, they’re charging $30 for a skimpy cooked breakfast? If I’m fucking paying $30 a person for breakfast, I want crab legs and bottomless fucking champagne. Not scrambled eggs and potatoes.

Anyways, her response comes back in large red font. That should explain the content of her email. I wrote back prior to hearing from her to apologize if I came off too harsh, as I bcc’d a friend who said I was a bit blunt.

I just fucking say what I’m thinking, because at the end of the day in business, they call it efficiency. If you don’t like my suggestion, we move on to things we can take action on. That’s how business is performed but not how children play. So anyways, I apologized profusely to her email of “I don’t like your taste at all” –Verbatim, because, she had any idea at this juncture what my taste consisted of since I was just unpacking boxes and moving in.

After this email, the sister child who runs the store, became elusive about our plans to get her goods online and get her in social media since her target audience is the largest group of new users to facebook, grandma age. So they can check in on little Johnny since little Johnny is probably on facebook. I confront her, (efficiency) and she says she’s just not ready at this time. I’ve only covered 1 shift and 2 mornings in the over 4 months that I’ve lived here. Remember, supposed to be one day a week?